


As Long As I'm Alive

by eIiza



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Past Lives, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Past Lives, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 19:01:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7857382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eIiza/pseuds/eIiza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza can't stop herself from having dreams of a man with grey eyes from centuries ago. They're definitely not memories of a past life. Dreams are just dreams, and everything is cool and normal.</p><p> </p><p>It's one of those "we had a past life together and now I kind of want to find you but also it's complicated" reincarnation fics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't sleep...it's 5 am...I apologize if there's any weird shit going on because of that.

It was normal, Eliza told herself, to have recurring dreams. Almost every night, she would slip into the same play of fancy gowns, handsome men, and always, always this feeling of giddy helplessness. She would wake up feeling dazzled and lost, emptiness a dull ache in her chest.

Lately, she would dream of dancing in a great ballroom with this one particular stranger, his hand on her back, hers on his shoulder, gaze locked in a mesmerizing spell. Dreams being dreams, she could never make out any details of his face save his eyes, a bright dusky grey that haunted her even in her waking moments.

Even now, as Eliza sat in her university library, finishing up the last of an assignment, the thought of him distracted her, taunting her with some deeper meaning she couldn’t make out. But dreams are just dreams, she reminded herself, just night time brain activity. Eventually it will work itself out and the dreams will go away, just like they always do. Except, she argued with herself, even when a particular recurring dream passes on, a new one comes and stays, always involving the man with the grey eyes. Last week, they were of writing letter after letter after letter after letter on a dark wood desk by candlelight. Although the man did not appear, she knew somehow that they were for him. And before that dream, they were of lying with him in the grass under a great expanse of stars, huddled under a blanket for warmth, the gentle sound of a lake lapping at rocks nearby. His eyes only inches from hers. She always woke up feeling safe and settled.

But of course, this was entirely normal and they didn’t actually mean anything. Eliza didn’t have time to dwell on them anyway, with the deadline to her assignment creeping up minute by minute. She pushed all thoughts of the dreams aside and focused on editing her paper. Ten minutes to midnight, finally satisfied, she submitted it, packed up her things, and started towards home. Handing in an assignment ten minutes before it’s due was exactly the same as handing it in ten hours before it’s due. It doesn’t affect anyone, really.

Eliza considered managing her time better. Starting and finishing a paper on the day it’s due never worked as well as she wanted it to. Every time it happened she resolved to do better, but just...  _ next time.  _ Which never came, of course. So when she finally slipped back into her apartment half past midnight, Eliza wasn’t surprised to be greeted with, “Did you procrastinate your homework, yet again?”

“It’s complete and handed in though,” Eliza defended herself, dropping her bag at the door. “It could be worse.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Angelica rolled her eyes, having attempted that same argument many times before. “Anyways, I need to go to bed, now that I’ve seen with my own eyes that nothing horrible happened on your way home. There’s pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“You’re the best,” Eliza praised as Angelica dropped a kiss on her forehead.

“You know it,” she winked and then disappeared down the hallway, “Night!”

“Good night,” Eliza called back. 

 

Settled in bed with the lights out, Eliza’s thoughts drifted back to the man of her dreams. She reasoned, maybe he keeps coming back because I keep thinking about him before I sleep. Hoping to avoid waking up with the strange longing the ballroom dreams leave her with, Eliza guided her thoughts to her sister. Angelica, the eldest, the smartest, the one adored by all, always looking out for Eliza. She felt jealous, sometimes, of her sister’s achievements and bold personality. Angelica was stunning, captivating, excelling in everything she did. Sometimes Eliza wondered what it was like to be able to command the attention of a room just by walking in. These feeling always gave way to the pride she had for her sister. Proud of the awards Angelica won, proud of the work she was doing for her community, proud to be able to say, “Hey, that’s my sister, isn’t she the greatest?” to anyone willing to listen. And how many other people could say they had someone who would stay up late just to make sure they got home safe. Or save a couple slices of pizza because they knew they’d be hungry. With her mind nestled around appreciation for her sister, Eliza drifted off to sleep.

 

_ There were letters strewn everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, some in a bucket. A bucket? Eliza peered inside. They were on fire. The immense feeling of bitter satisfaction bubbled up. Distantly, furious knocking and then the creak of a door could be heard. Eliza fed the hungry flames more letters. Destroy it. Take it all away. Take what away? _

_ Eliza heard shouting. Gathering her robes around her, she left the bedroom, left the flames burning, consuming the last bits of a happier time. What did he do? Eliza padded softly down the dark hall, the heated conversation getting louder. This was my house. This was mine. Halfway down the staircase, the shouting stopped, its source now visible. There stood the man with grey eyes, and with him a lady who did not look like anyone in particular, but Eliza knew it was Angelica. Her sister. Eliza could see a flame in her too, burning hot, silently spitting sparks at the man. Eliza finished her descent and Angelica wrapped her arms around her, safe. Together they amplified each other, crackling bright. Angelica continued cracking down on the man, burning dangerously hot, Eliza safe, blue flames, at the core. She caught sight of his eyes. Those grey eyes she had grown accustomed to seeing sharp, bright, passionate, were now full of stormy regret, fear as great as the bonfire reflected in them. They were glazed over with tears that did not spill. The furrow of his brow and defensive sneer boxed his eyes in, attempting to hide his pain. What did he do? It almost hurt to see him this way. _

_ Almost, but not quite. _

 

Eliza woke with a start, heart hammering, eyes wet. Everything was falling apart. She didn’t really want to hurt him. She felt so lost and directionless. But he hurt her. It took a few moments to fully wake up and gather herself. She was in her room, she put together, alarm not due to go off for another hour. Not daring to close her eyes again, Eliza lay still and counted in her head, stilling her thoughts and willing her heart to slow. A hundred minus seven is ninety-three. Ninety-three minus seven is eighty-six. Eighty-six minus seven is seventy-nine. At forty-four, wiping her eyes, Eliza allowed herself to think again. She’d never had a dream that intense before, whether it involved that man or not. 

Eliza tried to piece together clues from the dream but it was no use, everything was muddled with emotion and it was hard to remember. She recalled feeling bitter and hurt and consumed with anger. There was nothing but the desire to erase the man from her life. Then Angelica was there, and she fell apart, letting out terrible anguish and despair. There was nothing but the pain, and it was something to do with the man. Angelica was yelling at him. She wanted him to feel the way she did, but she didn’t want to hurt him, and yet the thought of burning him kept-

Eliza squeezed her eyes shut, pushing away the violent thoughts. She was crying again. He’s not even real, she reminded herself, scrubbing away her tears. Just stop. Stop stop stop stop stop.

She decided to get up. Maybe Angelica hadn’t left yet.

 

She found her in the washroom, fully dressed and almost done with her makeup routine. “I’m going for a ‘could shoot actual daggers with just a glance, but also you want to buy me a coffee’ kind of look,” Angelica explained, lining her eyes with dagger-sharp wings.

“I think you’ve nailed it,” Eliza giggled, relieved to find she’s still capable of positive emotions.

“I think you’re right,” Angelica flashed Eliza a smile before turning back to wing her other eye. Eliza, sitting in her pjs on the edge of the tub, allowed herself this quiet moment of tranquility. Just being in the same room as Angelica settled her nerves, and she let her mind blank out, captivated by her sister’s routine. Several minutes later, turning to face Eliza once more, Angelica broke her reverie.

“How do I look?”

“Like you’ll get at least five free coffees,” Eliza answered, “maybe more.”

Angelica laughed, clearing away her makeup, satisfied. Except her version of cleaning up was scooping everything into one giant handful, and depositing it all in a pink plastic basket on the sink counter. Neither of them particularly minded; it was clean enough. 

“I have a question,” Eliza stalled, still a bit thrown off by the intensity of the dream. She never told Angelica about her dreams or the man. It’s not noteworthy, nothing that needed to be mentioned.

“What’s up?”

“Do you,” Eliza paused to consider her wording, continuing slowly “know any guys with grey eyes?”

“Mmm, well,” content with her organization of the counter, Angelica now leaned against it, “you see, my dear sister, the thing about being a lesbian is, and this may come as a shock to you, I don’t spend a whole lot of time paying any kind of attention to men.”

Eliza sighed, not unamused, “That was incredibly useful, thank you.”

Angelica chucked, “You are very welcome. What do you need a grey eyed dude for?”

“Uhhhhh. No reason,” Eliza dodged, not wanting to explain her dreams. Angelica needed to leave soon anyway.

“If you say so,” she gave Eliza a knowing smile. Eliza was grateful she didn’t press it further. Leading Eliza out into the living room, Angelica added, “Okay, I gotta run. See you tonight?” 

Eliza nodded.

“Alright, love you.”

“Love you too,” and Angelica was out the door.

 

Eliza didn’t know what kind of answer she had expected, settling on the arm of the couch. The dream man wasn’t a real person. Stop expecting these dreams to mean something, because they don’t, she insisted. And even if the dreams were real, they were of a time from centuries ago. He would be long dead by now. But...if they didn’t matter, why did they happen so steadily? They’re just dreams. They can’t mean anything.

From her bedroom, Eliza could hear her alarm go off. No time for this right now. Pushing thoughts of the dreams aside, she headed to her bedroom to prepare for the day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two children yell at each other for five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now its 7 am and i just finished this chapter  
> what is sleep? s h r u g s

Finals were over, which meant Eliza didn’t have school to distract herself from her dreams anymore. Peggy was coming to visit while she was on winter break, but she wouldn’t arrive for another few days. Angelica was still busy with her own work, which left Eliza alone on this chilly December afternoon.

Eliza was bundled up in a toque and scarf, mostly preventative measures, as she made her way out toward the nearest coffee shop. A couple weeks have passed since she had that one remarkably intense dream. Surprisingly, thankfully, that exact one hadn’t come up again. Eliza hated to admit it, but the dreams have been turning a lot more romantic. But she definitely, definitely did not develop feelings for this man who didn’t exist, or, who did exist but died centuries ago. That would be absurd and was definitely  _ not _ happening. Eliza turned onto the street of her destination.

She started picking up smaller details. She still couldn’t exactly see him in her dreams, but she started noticing when he smiled at her, and how that made her breath catch. Which was silly, because dream people didn’t need to breathe. The way he took her hands in his, arms holding each other at a respectable distance, always pulled her into a daze. Just physical contact, however chaste, was enough to send her heart skyrocketing. Which didn’t make sense, because dreams weren’t detailed enough to simulate heartbeats. Any of this having any actual real world carryover would be preposterous. Because he was a dream man. Who didn’t exist.

She opened the door of the shop and got in line. A dream man with the most incredibly brilliant eyes. They never failed to appear perfect, crystal clear, almost cartoonishly expressive with the way dreams over exaggerate important details. On the surface, they were regular, grey eyes, and then the dream would suspend time and Eliza was left staring at them, and they’d come to life. Eliza would feel the emotions they convey as if they were her own. The dream would continue on like normal, and yet somehow, keep Eliza trapped in that connection, operating in parallel. 

In one dream, they were at a ball again, but instead of dancing, Eliza was to the side, watching others dance. It was mesmerizing to let her eyes unfocus and watch the blurry shapes move in unison. Bringing her vision back into focus, the first thing she sees is a young man. The man with the grey eyes. Then he notices her staring at him and their eyes lock from across the room. Everything else fades away to blackness, and it’s just him and her, and she can’t look away from those frazzled, passionate grey eyes-

A tap on the shoulder and, “Excuse me, uh, you’re next in line.”

Eliza spun around to thank the stranger and-

“You have grey eyes,” she blurted out, staring.

“Yeah, but, uh, you’re next,” he gestured to the waiting barista. His eyes were exactly the same.

“Oh!” Eliza pulled herself together enough to manage, “Thanks.”

She shakily walked toward the counter. He existed. She placed her order. He existed and he’s right over there. She collected her drink. He was real after all. She sat down at a table before her legs gave out.

Shit, shit, shit okay. Said real guy finished ordering his drink, walked towards Eliza, and started talking. All she could do was stare at his eyes. Which came with a real face. A really handsome face. Shit. He was still talking.

“-mind...Uh, are you okay?”

“Me? No. I mean, yes, probably,” Eliza spit out, and then added, “Uh, what were you saying?”

“If you don’t mind,” he repeated, gesturing at the chair, “can I sit here?”

“Oh! Yes. Yeah, of course!”   
“Thanks,” he smiled with a trace of sympathy, and sat down across from her.

“So,” he started again, smoothing a hand over his dark hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail, “I don’t normally- I’m just really curious. How do I put this?”

He paused to take a sip of his drink, sweater sleeves pulled down over his hands for insulation, then continued, ”just, like, what the fuck?”

Eliza had been sitting stone still up to that point. His question broke something and she burst out laughing, unable to control her nerves.

“I have a good reason, I don’t normally just tell people their eye colour. Especially strangers in line. At the coffee place,” Eliza rambled.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, “ah yes, the coffee place.”

As her words caught up to her she backtracked, “I mean, I don’t do that anywhere else either. And I do have a good reason.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was curious about,” his grey eyes pierced right through her, dancing with amusement. She felt as though he had already retrieved the answer with his gaze.

“Well, okay, maybe it’s not a good reason. Maybe it’s a really weird reason,” she started, looking away.

“Hmm,” his brows furrowed in contemplation. “So, something you wouldn’t tell some guy you just met?”

Eliza laughed nervously. “Yeah, you’re a stranger,” she said, mostly as a reminder to herself. Just because he looked exactly as she remembered her dream man to be, doesn’t mean he came to life and then time travelled centuries into the future.

He offered his hand, smiling widely, “Let’s not be strangers, then. My name’s Alexander.”

 

_ It’s just him and her, and she can’t look away from those frazzled, passionate grey eyes. He closes the distance between them, crossing the dance floor. _

_ “Do you dance?” he asks. _

_ “Most certainly not with strange men,” Eliza smiles playfully at him. _

_ “With acquaintances?” he tries. _

_ “That will have to do, I suppose.” _

_ “Then let’s get acquainted. Alexander Hamilton,” he offers his name and his hand. She accepts both. _

_ “Elizabeth Schuyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” _

 

His hand was still extended. Eliza numbly took his hand and shook it, completely taken off guard. The dreams only ever came while she was asleep. She couldn’t ignore its significance any longer, whatever it was.

“Thanks,” she blinked, still shaking his hand.

He laughed, letting go of her hand, “What’s your name?”

“Eliza.”

His smile faltered slightly. His eyes caught hers again, searching for something. “Short for Elizabeth?”

“What else would it be short for?”

“Right,” Alexander laughed again. Eliza wasn’t sure if was nervous or just how he laughed. Maybe it was possible that he…

“You know what’s really weird?” she started, blatantly steering the conversation in a new direction. So smooth.

“What?” he replied, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward onto them.

“Dreams,” she said slowly, watching his face carefully. “Like, do you think they mean anything? Or are they just like, some random shit that happens?”

Something new in his face lit up, “Yeah! Yeah, dreams are so weird. I personally think they mean something, y’know, but I guess what they mean differ from person to person.” He continued slower, “Like, the other night, I swear I had a dream with a person in it who had brown eyes exactly like yours.”

Eliza’s heart starts hammering. “Tell me,” she prompts, eyes wide with hope.

“Well,” he starts again, picking his words with care, “I was me, and there was this lady in one of those fancy ballgowns. We were at a dance, and then, I think, she didn’t want to dance anymore-”

“So we went outside and sat on a bench in the garden and just talked,” Eliza rushed to finish for him, vibrating with anticipation.

“Holy shit.”

“Alexander.”

He nodded.

“You’re my Alexander.”

He nodded again, more vigorously. “And you’re my Elizabeth?” he tried, cautiously.

“I think so.”

“Holy shit.”

“Same.”


End file.
